Infinitely Losing My Edge
Yeah, I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
The kids are coming up from behind.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids from Cuba and from Tehran.
But I was there.
I was there in 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids whose footsteps I hear when they get on the decks.
I'm losing my edge to the internet seekers who can tell me every member of every good group from 1965 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Lille.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Glasgow kids in little jackets and borrowed nostalgia for the unremembered nineties.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
I can hear the footsteps every night on the decks.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976 at the first Buzzcocks practice in a loft in Bolton.
I was working on the oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen started up his first band.
I told him, "Don't do it that way. You'll never make a dime."
I was there.
I was the first guy playing Carl Craig to the punk kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
Everybody thought I was crazy.
We all know.
I was there.
I was there.
I've never been wrong.
But I'm losing my edge to better-looking people with better ideas and more talent.
And they're actually really, really nice.
I'm losing my edge.
I heard you have a compilation of every good song ever done by anybody.
Every great song by Beasts of Bourbon. All the underground hits.
All Nas tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Mary Jane Girls record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sister Nancy record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Panda Bear,
Ken Boothe,
Stereo Dub,
Amazonics,
Gang Green,
The Alarm Clocks,
Bootsy Collins,
Pantaleimon,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Pylon,
Marshall Jefferson,
The Saints,
Pulsallama,
Stiv Bators,
Country Teasers,
a-ha,
Jesper Dahlback,
Girls At Our Best!,
The Invisible,
The Shadows of Knight,
Wolf Eyes,
Q and Not U,
Barrington Levy,
Lightning Bolt,
Nils Olav,
Scratch Acid,
the Germs,
Half Japanese,
Whodini,
Crime,
Graham Central Station,
Lower 48,
U.S. Maple,
Public Enemy,
the Soft Cell,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Drive Like Jehu,
Moebius,
The Techniques,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Godley & Creme,
Derrick May,
Talk Talk,
The Mighty Diamonds,
ABBA,
Rapeman,
The Music Machine,
London Community Gospel Choir,
John Coltrane,
Outsiders,
The Misunderstood,
Aural Exciters,
OOIOO,
Joey Negro,
The Martian,
The Grass Roots,
Black Bananas,
Fad Gadget,
John Foxx,
Youth Brigade,
Don Cherry, Don Cherry, Don Cherry, Don Cherry.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.